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My hair had been swept into a low chignon at the nape of my neck, though several determined curls had already escaped to frame my face.

Around my neck rested Sofia’s necklace. I reached up and touched it lightly. For years, I had looked into mirrors wondering whether I would ever feel entirely like myself again. This morning, there was nothing left to search for. I had found her.

“Ready?” Charlotte called again.

I took one last breath. “I am.”

I crossed the room and opened the door. Charlotte looked at me.

For the first time since I had known her, she didn’t have anything clever to say.

* * *

Charlotte slipped her arm through mine as we made our way toward the conservatory.

Snow fell beyond the tall windows and Blackwood Hall was wrapped in the winter light. Beside the entrance, a black umbrella rested against the wall, its white swan-shaped handle catching the afternoon light. I wondered whose ornate umbrella that could have been.

The quartet had already begun to play. Charlotte gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

The doors stood open. I stopped without meaning to.

It took my breath away.

Towering Christmas trees rose among the palms, their branches wrapped in countless strands of white light until it seemed the first stars had arrived before nightfall. Evergreen garlands climbed the iron framework overhead, woven with deep crimson ribbon and winter berries. The whole room smelled of pine and warm beeswax. Hundreds of candles flickered in tall glass hurricanes lining the aisle.

Inside, the conservatory glowed.

Then my eyes found him.

He stood at the end of the aisle exactly where I knew he would be, one hand resting lightly over the other, every line of his tuxedo immaculate, every familiar instinct toward composure still firmly in place.

Except his face. I knew that expression, but I had never seen it quite like this. His composure hadn’t disappeared. It had simply become too small to contain what he was feeling.

For one impossible heartbeat, the room ceased to exist. Only Alexander remained. His eyes met mine. And he smiled.

It was the smile that belonged only to me. The one that began quietly before spreading without permission until even he seemed powerless to stop it. My own answered before I realized I was smiling.

Charlotte leaned closer. “I think you’ve ruined him.”

I laughed. “I certainly hope not.”

She smiled. “Oh, no.” Her eyes drifted toward Alexander. “I think you have.”

The processional began. Charlotte squeezed my hand one last time before letting it slip from hers.

For a brief moment, I stood alone. Then I took my first step.

I knew people were watching. I knew the room was full. I couldn’t have named a single face around me. There was only one face I wanted to see.

The distance between us disappeared one quiet step at a time.

Then I noticed Winston, the King of Blackwood Hall. He sat beside Alexander, a soft wreath of greenery resting loosely around his neck, watching everything with the calm dignity that was uniquely his. When he saw me, his tail swept once across the marble floor.

When I finally reached Alexander, he took both of my hands. His fingers closed around mine, warm and certain.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered.